


plural

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual, Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 03:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15548934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: Ignis and Ardyn sneak away from camp.





	plural

It’s a familiar motion, one rife with consequences he doesn’t want to think about; a familiar thing in general, the burn against his thighs from the pass of an unshaven face and the tiny, wet noises produced by each movement of lips and throat around his cock.

Ignis’s face is tucked into the crook of his own arm, stifling the noise he _wants_ to make. His breathing is too shallow and too loud, and the night is too _quiet._ The other hand, clutching desperately at the tree he’s half slumped back against. Tree bark tearing at the pads of his fingers, numbing his skin. He should have kept his gloves on. He should have stayed at camp. He should have… he should have…

… should have asked Ardyn to do this _sooner,_ and if he would have had another hand at his disposal, he would have buried his fingers into his hair and _pulled_ him closer. Urged him a little faster, to stop making so many godsdamn immodest noises with his mouth, saliva coating his lips and chin and the cock he was sucking–

 _“Gods.”_ As it is, Ignis can’t help a tiny, uttered moan. It’s one Ardyn hears, of _course,_ because the man _laughs,_ laughs with his mouth still around him and Ignis feels _that_ all the way to the tips of his toes. His thighs tremble. His legs shake. He’s certain he’s going to collapse and then Ardyn’s hands press firmly against his legs, pressing him harder back into the tree. He’s going to have scratches from the tree bark _everywhere_ along his back. And his ass. Gods, he hopes there aren’t ants. He could do without those kinds of bites.

As it is inclined to do, his rational mind shuts down again when Ardyn pulls off with what would have been a revolting _pop,_ except it’s not, and the lack of warmth around him makes him groan instead. The air’s cold where it hits his wet skin. “Ardyn.” His voice comes out sounding suspiciously the way Noct’s does when he doesn’t want to eat his vegetables, and his entire body flushes with embarrassment.

Such strange things the chancellor can do to him.

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ , was there something you wanted?” Ardyn, again, is so nonchalant that it’s _infuriating_ , and Ignis thinks he might growl because of it. It’s internal, at the very least, if not audible.

He drops his arm from his face, sucking in a sharp breath and reaching down. “Yes,” he says crisply, and finally, _finally_ , grabs a handful of Ardyn’s hair. He rather loves it. “Orgasms.” He pulls him back in, and Ardyn dutifully takes him back in mouth, takes him to the back of his throat and allows Ignis to fuck him with all of the strength he can manage while they are where they are, snuck away for another little tryst, all prepared to be caught if something goes wrong, and doesn’t pull away even after Ignis comes down his throat.

He swallows his spend easily, an up-and-down motion of his throat bobbing that Ignis can’t see in the gloom. Mind’s eye, however, does not fail him. It’s not a sight he’s liable to ever forget. And then Ardyn keeps suckling, the tip of his tongue tracing at the vein running the length of, lips retracting enough to mouth at the head.

Ignis grumbles something nonsensical; the only things keeping him upright now are Ardyn’s hands, and his own grip in the man’s hair. He thinks he’s probably scraping his scalp. Then, he thinks, wincing as the tree digs into his skin, that’s probably fair.

Ardyn licks at his slit, and Ignis garbles off something a little louder. “‘s quite enough, thank you.” He tries to stand up straight on his own volition. Even that’s not enough when Ardyn’s hands slide to the back of his knees and all but sweeps his legs out from under him instead; Ignis can’t help a tiny noise of surprise even as the chancellor eases his descent to the ground. “What _are_ you doing?”

“Honestly now, Ignis, I’m pleasuring you.”

He stifles a tiny laugh, leaning forward. “Yes, I did notice you having done that.” He needs to make himself presentable and get back to camp before anyone can wonder where the two of them have gone. At the very least, he needs to pull up his trousers, but it’s a hard won battle when Ardyn is _right_ there, easily in reach of being able to rest his forehead against his shoulder. In a moment, then.

“Don’t say it as though it’s past tense.”

There’s only one real way to interpret that phrase, but Ignis’s brain is still behind time. When Ardyn pulls back, Ignis only looks at him blankly. There’s no recognition to be had until Ardyn grips his thighs and moves to press him back into the grass below, and then Ignis wrinkles his nose and squirms as the man’s lips descend all too close to his groin again. “Ardyn.” They haven’t the time and he hasn’t the stamina– (both things are a lie, but he feels compelled to have the excuse on the tip of his tongue nonetheless.)

“Yeeeeeees?” His breath is hot on Ignis’s thigh.

“What are you–” His skin is still buzzing. It sears white hot when Ardyn bites a mark there. “– doing?”

“You said ‘orgasm _s_ ’. With an ‘s’. Plural.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Did I?”

“You did.”

He thinks back, a moment, several moments. Ardyn has the curious way of persuading him to do or say anything he desires. He doesn’t complain about that, save playfully, because it always ends up being to his benefit as well. “I did…” he murmurs, and thunks his head back into the grass. And then immediately raises it again when there’s fingers, cold and wet, circling his entrance. He loses his words again, can only make a noise of distress as a fingertip presses in because he’s _still_ much too sensitive from the last orgasm. It is poison and delicacy alike, rushing through his veins; he doesn’t know what he says as he tries to prop himself up, already breathing hard again, but Ardyn must find it funny because all he does– _again,_ damn him– is laugh _._

“Find your primaries, Ignis,” he says, almost bemused, but the finger doesn’t recede and Ignis struggles to think.

Something tells him _yellow, red,_ the logical part in his mind that _isn’t_ out of it by sex and desire and the way the chancellor looks at him and only him. Something that isn’t swayed by the fingers working into his ass. But something larger isn’t inclined to listen to it, damn the consequences, the part torn between arching into the burn of the stretch and the struggle to get hard again so quickly or pulling away, and he thinks, as he thinks he’s thought since the very first time he had _felt_ towards Ardyn Izunia, _fuck it._

“Blue,” he gasps, and his breath comes out in a short, sharp whine when Ardyn crooks his finger and says

“Good boy.”

He feels lightheaded from the praise. The ache is overwhelming, but he knows he won’t regret it for an instant. Ardyn never lets him regret it.

Ardyn hasn’t made any move to undress since they’ve been out here; too many layers and too much time signifies Ignis won’t be taking him tonight, but that doesn’t matter. He’s always so good with his hands. Ignis has to fold his arm over his face again and bite into his sleeve when Ardyn’s free hand curls around his cock; it’s the only way to quiet himself and even that doesn’t do so well of a job as he painstakingly gets hard again, as Ardyn’s fingers glide along his cock and work him open simultaneously. He’s everywhere at once and not close enough, either.

He only takes two of those fingers before climax claims him. There’s no warning except for the way the pain escalates to pleasure; the build up lacks what it had before and then he’s spilling onto Ardyn’s gloves and bare fingers, gasping out his names as he comes.

Ignis would swear he’s not usually so needy, but then, it’s been a long day.

“You truly are a sight.”

He moans lightly in reply, thinking he could drift off right here. Ardyn’s gaze is praising right along with his words. He isn’t even looking. His glasses are pushed up to his forehead. But he can tell. He always can.

He’s a few minutes of floating, maybe drifting, the urgency of getting back to camp momentarily forgotten. When he comes back to himself, he’s vaguely aware of still feeling _full,_ and then he’s _very_ aware that Ardyn still has his fingers stuck up his ass. He barely opens his eyes, prepared to open his mouth and speak, when Ardyn grins, and effortlessly finds his prostate.

He doesn’t know what kind of noise threatens him, then, propels him up to an elbow because it’s _too much, too fast;_ he is caught by Ardyn’s hand pressing flush against his mouth. The hand that had been on his cock. His fingers are still damp with his release. Ardyn slips them between Ignis’s lips and tells him to suck.

He taps out a two finger beat on Ardyn’s wrist first, and is awarded a gentle smile in reply. Sometimes, he wonders if he's the only one who gets to see Ardyn smile like that. He hopes.

“I know, Ignis mine. I won’t give you more than you can take, I assure you,” Ardyn says.

Ignis believes him. There may be things he doesn’t trust when it comes to the chancellor’s opinion regarding their prince, or their kingdom, even the gods themselves, sometimes, but this? Ardyn has always known how to take care of him, right from the infuriating start.

He loves him, he thinks, he thinks he loves him–

His shoulders hit the ground again. He clings to the previous thought, running it over and over again even though he knows he _shouldn’t_ , and he clings to Ardyn’s voice talking to him in the same tone– lower now, he likes to imagine, but then he wonders if he imagines it at all.

He wonders if, perhaps, Ardyn loves _him_ – but that’s ludicrous–

“You’ve always impressed me,” Ardyn says. For a moment, he wonders if he’s reading his mind, but that’s ludicrous, too. “Handsome, intelligent… always ten steps ahead of the others.”

He wants to argue that, wants to say the others are just as smart and tactical if you give them the time, but he can’t manage anything around gasping for breath around the fingers in his mouth, and he couldn’t, _anyway,_ because Ardyn’s voice is lulling him down into nothing. He thinks he might cease to exist, soon. There’s certainly enough sensation to send him spiraling from this earth.

“You’ve never failed me, either, Ignis.”

 _I would never,_ he thinks hazily, and then cries out when a third finger slips in. He thinks there’s tears in his eyes, and then they’re spilling down his cheeks. He thinks he’s trying to beg, but he can’t decipher the words in the mess that his own mind is right now.

“Just as I know you won’t now, isn't that right? Because you're doing so _well_ for me _._ You’re so close, _ſanctiſsimæ._ ” Sometimes, Ardyn had a _way_ of doing that, saying… _something_ that slid over Ignis’s skin in a way he couldn’t process, words he could hear but couldn’t understand, like the remnants of an old, dead language that none of them were supposed to know. But he can’t focus on that right now. “You can come for me just once more, Ignis?” he asks, purrs his name like it’s a treasure on his tongue. “It’ll make you feel positively exquisite.”

He is inclined to believe him.

He’s inclined to believe anything he says in that voice, danger and sex wrapped altogether, and he does, and he shudders through a dry orgasm as Ardyn continues to finger fuck him through it until he is drained, dazed. Completely wrung out.

Ardyn says that he’s gorgeous, Ignis thinks, but he can’t exactly focus. He may as well be unconscious, but he believes there’s a steady stream of praise from above. Maybe. Perhaps. Perhaps he imagines it, in the way he thinks he must imagine the warm, encompassing feeling that follows suits; it’s something like the sensation of swallowing a curative, a safety that chases away the aches and pains in his body. But there’s no curative, and Ignis knows he must imagine the faint flicker of pink from beneath his closed eyelids as well. Curious.

“I like this look, you know.”

He opens his eyes. His vision is blurry. Ardyn hands him his glasses before he can try to look for them. “Mm?”

Ardyn is sitting cross-legged next to him, hands clasped in his lap. “Well and truly fucked out,” he says, and Ignis stifles an appalled laugh. _Horrible_ _._

“Yes…” Somehow, he’s already back in his trousers, although he can’t recall the aftercare. It doesn’t matter. “Thank you for that.” He’s still shaking, minutely, but he manages to sit up just enough to lean against Ardyn’s shoulder.

“My pleasure!”

“ _Was_ it…?” He looks pointedly at Ardyn’s lap. The whole exchange feels terribly uneven. He’s reaped all the benefits without any reciprocation, hasn’t he?

“Oh, I took care of that already.”

Ignis looks back at his face. “When? How long was I out?”

“Oh, no time at all, no time at all.” He waves his hands. “You know how efficient I can be.” Ignis thinks he makes a face, but Ardyn continues before he can accuse him of lying. “We should head back, though. Even the best excuses are like to be flimsy in the face of your three companions having awoken.”

He’s not wrong. There’s no good explanation for this to begin with, nevermind an extended absence between the both of them. Ardyn helps him to his feet and presses his lips into his hair.

“What did you call me?” Ignis asks, as they’re on their way back to the haven.

“Hmm?”

“That… word.” He can’t begin to try and imitate it. “When you were… praising me.”

“Oh!” Ardyn shrugs, very slightly, but his lackadaisical attitude is in contrast to the grin on his face. “‘Most holy.’”

The snort is quickly covered with a cough, and Ignis carefully works his expression back to casual disinterest. “As though I’ll believe that.”

“ _What?_ You wound me, Ignis.” A hand clasps to his heart, and Ardyn looks at him as though he’s been personally wronged.

Ignis clears his throat so not to laugh– they’re nearing camp, as it is– and drops his voice. “Keep your secrets, Chancellor. I’ll puzzle them out eventually.”

“You will,” Ardyn said. His voice was only _just_ that less cheerful. Before Ignis can even ask, the chancellor sweeps into a bow and gestures him back into the camp in the most extravagant way possible. “But, until then, Ignis.”

Ignis holds a finger up to his own lips.

Ardyn beams and copies the motion, and Ignis leads the way back into their tent.

**Author's Note:**

> yO! a request from one of my ardnis friends! but summer, how many ardnis friends do you have? you ask. i look into the camera: you'd be surprised.  
>  _ **dirty sinners (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻ ┻━┻ ┻━┻ ┻━┻ ┻━┻**_
> 
>  _ ****_seriously though, I've totally bought into the Ardyn-as-a-party-member au with bonus Ardnis so I'm sure you'll be seeing more of these guys from me eventually... although probably not porn like this HA ~~also yes, Ardyn is calling him 'most holy' in my tiny adapted version of Old Solheim - the literal definition, anyway. in reality, it's an old pet name - similar to 'sweetheart' or 'darling' of nowadays~~


End file.
